


No Looking Back Or Down

by thewolfwiththeredroses



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angry Derek, Angst, Beta Derek, Caring Derek, Developing Relationship, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Derek, Road Trips, Running Away, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Stiles Has Nightmares, The Lord of the Rings References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2018-10-14 03:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfwiththeredroses/pseuds/thewolfwiththeredroses
Summary: Derek looks around himself and all he can see is happy faces, smiling, laughing, carefree. He wants to be happy for them, wants to be proud, but he can’t. He can’t, because they haven’t been paying attention.And Derek is just so angry.ORStiles is really not okay and Derek is the only one who notices. There begins the road trip of a life time.





	1. I Can't Take This Place (I'm Leaving It Behind)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> I literally cannot believe the response I got from my first fic, you're all so lovely!
> 
> This will probably end up with many chapters, so, buckle in chaps, this is going to be a wild ride!
> 
> Tags and rating will be updated with every new chapter, so watch out!
> 
> Unbeta'd and kinda experimental style, so any mistakes are my own and constructive feedback is welcomed. Enjoy!
> 
> Work title is from Castaway by Green Day.  
> Chapter title is from Letterbomb by Green Day.

They’re alive.

 

They’re not _okay_ , not by any stretch of the imagination, but they are alive.

 

That’s more than Derek ever thought they would have.

 

They’re…happy, for the most part. Junior year has just ended for the pack, and they wanted to throw a party to celebrate. So much has happened to them in the past year, so many people have died, they decided that they wanted to enjoy themselves whilst they still could.

 

Derek even let them use the loft. He thought that it could be good for them. He had thought that if they were all in one place, all together and celebrating, not talking or thinking about all that they had lost, maybe then they would see, they would _understand._

Evidently, they did not.

 

Derek looks around himself and all he can see is happy faces, smiling, laughing, carefree. He wants to be happy for them, wants to be proud, but he can’t. He _can’t,_ because they haven’t been _paying attention._

 

And Derek is just so _angry._

There is a face missing from the crowd of teenagers, but Derek can hear him. His heartbeat is rabbit-quick, panicked, and headed towards the parking lot outside. Derek knows where the boy is going, knows what he’s going to do, because he’s done the same countless times before.

 

Slipping unnoticed in to the shadows, Derek follows.

 

*** 

 

When Derek arrives at the boy’s house, the light blue Jeep is already standing in the driveway, motor still running. The doors to both the car and the house are thrown wide open, although Derek can see no signs of movement.

 

Listening more closely, he hears the familiar heartbeat, still rabbit-quick and panicked, worryingly so. He hears little else. No wardrobe doors banging, no drawers sliding open-shut-open-shut, no sounds of a rush.

 

Instead, he hears measured footsteps, the soft impact of a bag being slung over someone’s shoulder, the creaking of old floorboards.

 

The boy had planned this.

 

Derek _knew it._

He waits in the shadows, listening as footsteps come clambering down the staircase ever closer, as the front door slams to a close, as the boy comes in to view, opening the passenger side door and throwing his pre-packed duffel bag on to the seat.

 

That is when Derek chooses to make his appearance. Silent as ever, he steps out of the shadow of the warn wooden porch and into the eye line of the boy as he is rounding the car to reach the driver’s side.

 

A multitude of emotions play out on Stiles’ face as he lays eyes on Derek. He stops still in front of the open driver’s side door, mouth slightly agape, staring. He doesn’t look angry, like Derek thought he would. He doesn’t even look sad, which would have been Derek’s second guess.

 

He looks like a lot of things, things that Stiles always looks like, these days. He looks tired, and thin, gaunt, like the shadow of a person, like he hasn’t eaten or slept in days, which, Derek knows, he hasn’t. He looks small, fragile, beaten.

 

_Weak._

 

He looks like a hundred things that Stiles should never, ever look like. Not Stiles, who is always so full of life, of movement and energy. Stiles, who stares in the face of the biggest bad around and tells it where to go. Stiles, who has always been so breathtakingly beautiful that Derek could hardly bare looking, for the fear that he would dirty the boy with the ash that rains over everything he cares about.

 

The emotion that wins the war for Stiles’ features is resigned confusion. The boy has sadness and exhaustion written across every line of his face, but his brows are drawn together and his mouth is still agape, his hands fluttering and twitching by his sides before he takes a deep breath-

 

“How did you know?”

 

The words are naught but a whisper, although Derek hears them as clearly as his own stuttering heartbeat.

 

How did Derek know? Derek knows because he watches over his pack. Sometimes he may be misguided in his methods, but he tries so hard to look after everybody, just like Scott and the others do. Like Derek _thought_ they did.

 

Derek knows because he _cares._ But, most of all, Derek knows-

“Because I understand.”

What Derek doesn’t understand is how any of the others can live with themselves, having ignored what was blatantly right in front of them the whole time. They’re all partying and smiling and _happy,_ not even noticing that Stiles has gone, once again ignoring the dark circles under his eyes that never really left.

 

That’s when the anger finally twists Stiles’ features in to an ugly sneer. He turns his head away from Derek, before closing his eyes and huffing a breath out of his nose, the fight dropping out of his body.

 

“I want to say that you don’t understand, that nobody does. But, I guess, out of everyone, you’re probably the only one who would kind of get it.”

 

Stiles raises his head once again to meet Derek’s gaze, raising his chin and pulling back his shoulders, straightening his posture to become firm and unshakable.

 

“Even still. You can’t stop me.” He finishes.

 

“I’m not going to stop you,” Derek replies, before walking past Stiles, brushing up against the boy as he walks towards the porch and sits gently on the step, hands clasped between his knees and eyes firmly on Stiles’. “I’m coming with you.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, probably to protest, but Derek cuts him off with a soft, simple, “Wasn’t a question.”

 

At that, all of the indignation that was fuelling the boy is suddenly expelled, leaving his stature deflating until he, too, has dropped down on to the step of the porch, next to Derek, facing outwards into the street.

 

“Why?” Stiles whispers.

 

“Don’t ask questions that you don’t want to be asked in return,” Derek replies.

 

“Okay.” Stiles says, cringing at the thought of talking about his feelings.

 

“You’ll- _We’ll_ get there eventually. Talking about things. When we’re…”

 

“Far enough away that it no longer feels like this town will drag us back again?” Stiles supplies.

 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, pausing for a moment to think of how to raise the question, “So where were you planning to go?”

 

“Anywhere. I didn’t really have a plan. I have my college savings, my car and that’s about it. I was thinking maybe a road trip, but then I kinda wanted more, you know? I’ve almost died more times than I can count and I’ve barely even lived. I’ve never even left the states other than those trips down to Mexico. There’s no way I could afford to go abroad, though. Figured I’d take Roscoe and drive as far away from here as she would take me.”

 

“So, probably as far as the next street, then?” Derek joked.

 

“Don’t talk smack about my baby, Hale,” Stiles quipped back, a small smile gracing his features for a second, the first Derek has seen on the boy in far too long, and it makes him feel a little lighter inside.

 

“I’ll be here at 7am sharp, we’re taking my car. Bring everything you’ve packed but your college savings, this is on me,” Derek says as he stands from his spot on the porch, looking down at Stiles.

 

“Man, I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t make you-”

 

“You’re not making me do anything. I’m paying. I want to.”

 

Stiles can tell that there is more to that than Derek is saying, but he won’t push. Not yet. Not until they are ready.

 

“Okay.”

 

Derek nods at Stiles before turning and walking down the driveway. Stiles stands from his seat to go and turn off Roscoe’s engine, taking his duffel bag out of the car before locking her up, heading inside and spending another sleepless night sat in his room waiting for morning to come.


	2. Do You Wanna Share a Ride (And Get the Fuck Out of This Joint)?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek pulls up outside the Stilinski house just before 7am, the June morning sun already chasing the chill from the night air. Shutting off the Camaro engine, Derek gets out of the car and makes his way across the driveway towards the house. 
> 
> OR
> 
> Stiles and Derek leave Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took so long, but I've had a lot of work for university!
> 
> Please note that the rating has changed, and may change again later in the story so keep an eye out!
> 
> WARNING: I'm really happy with how this turned out, but just be warned that there are some scenes which could be upsetting, specifically the lead up to a panic attack, some blood, dead bodies, mentions of alcoholism and mental illness. Most mentions are brief and not too graphic, but please don't read if you feel this could be triggering for you.
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Chapter title is from Stay The Night by Green Day.

By the time he gets back to the loft, most of the party-goers are filtering out of the doors, leaving behind a mess of discarded cups and an exhausted-looking pack. One by one they walk past him on their way out with promises of returning the next day to clean up, grins still plastered on their faces. No mention of Stiles.

 

Derek doesn’t sleep that night. He plans.

 

It doesn’t take him long to pack. If he’s honest with himself, he never truly unpacked when he moved in to the loft, just slid his bag under his bed and figured that was good enough. Out of sight, out of mind, right? That way, he never had to think about the fact that he was more or less always looking for a good enough reason to run away again.

 

He’d never found it, until now.

 

Derek sits in front of his laptop for hours, researching in a way he hopes Stiles would be proud of. He has a plan, of sorts. Well, he has a plan of how to come up with a plan, which is more than he’s had to go on previously. He figures that Stiles will have some of his own ideas, too, as per usual, but even still, he tries to do what he thinks is best.

 

It isn’t until the first rays of morning light come spilling through the loft’s windows that it dawns on Derek that, for what could be the first time in his life, he will actually be leaving something behind when he runs. He picks up his keys from where they reside on the table in front of him, toying with them before they land back on the surface with a clatter.

 

Lifting his hips up, he pulls his phone out of his front pocket, bringing up Stiles’ name.

 

**To: Stiles**

**_What are we telling the others?_ **

****

Once he hits sent, he worries for a moment, hoping that it’s not too much of a loaded question, but he doesn’t have time to worry for long before his phone is buzzing with a reply.

 

**From: Stiles**

**_Nothing._ **

****

**To: Stiles**

**_Okay._ **

****

Derek had figured as much. Although, truly, there is more to that question that Derek had intended. Before he can think better of it, he has already typed his next question.

 

**To: Stiles**

**_What about your dad?_ **

****

There’s a ball of worry in the pit of Derek’s stomach as he waits for Stiles’ reply. He’s not trying to talk Stiles out of it, honestly, he just needs to know the full extent of what they are leaving behind. Are they coming back soon? Are they cutting all ties to Beacon Hills for now, or… for good?

 

**From: Stiles**

**_I’ve written him a note._ **

**_I tried to explain._ **

**_Still kinda feels like a coward’s way out._ **

****

**To: Stiles**

**_I’m sure he will understand._ **

**_Be there in 20._ **

****

Derek shuts off his phone, pushing back from the table and standing up, looking once more around the trashed loft before nodding to himself. This is the right decision, he’s sure of it. In that moment, Derek’s resolve feels unshakable. He grasps his keys up off the table, deftly unwinding the loft key from the fob and placing it back on the surface, before grabbing a pen and a piece of paper, and scrawling a note for the pack find when they come by.

 

 

Derek pulls up outside the Stilinski house just before 7am, the June morning sun already chasing the chill from the night air. Shutting off the Camaro engine, Derek gets out of the car and makes his way across the driveway towards the house. The cruiser isn’t there, which comes as no surprise, and the powder blue Jeep stands there alone, somehow still trundling on after everything that has happened inside. If he looks closely enough through the window, Derek can still see a stain on the front seat which he is sure is his own blood. It almost makes him want to laugh. Almost.

 

Derek moves on autopilot, across the short lawn and round to the side of the house where Stiles’ bedroom window is. He can already hear Stiles’ heartbeat. Although the boy may be uncharacteristically quite these days, his heart still pounds loud and strong. It may stutter, fast with panic and palpitations but it is always just as powerful, relentless. It’s one of Derek’s favourite sounds, it gives him hope. For what, he’s not sure, but hope is something Derek hasn’t had in a long time, so he clings to it like a lifeline.

 

Lost in his own thoughts, it isn’t until he’s about to scale the wall that he looks up to the window and sees that it is already open. Stiles’ head, complete with ridiculous bedhair, is already poking outside and looking down at Derek. The bags under his eyes look even heavier than they had a few hours ago, and Derek doubts that he even tried to sleep at all.

 

“You know, my dad’s not here. You could just use the door,” Stiles says, still looking down at Derek. There is light humour in his voice, and for a second, Derek allows himself to hope that Stiles’ lips will twist in to that devilish smirk that he had so hated, and now misses desperately. They don’t.

 

“Yeah, well, old habits and all that,” Derek replies, shuffling on his feet and feeling slightly awkward under the teens gaze.

 

“Come on up,” Stiles finally relents, stepping back from the window.

 

Derek scales the outer wall of the house and slides through Stiles’ open window in five seconds flat, feet landing heavily on the floorboard in Stiles’ room.

 

“That will never not be impressive,” Stiles said, voice dripping with mirth.

 

Derek huffed in response before glancing around the boy’s room once more. Countless hours have been spent here, researching, planning, on one memorable occasion even hiding from the police. The memory makes Derek huff once more.

 

“Remember when you harboured a fugitive in here? Good times,” Derek deadpanned, glaring at Stiles like he hasn’t in a long time.

 

Stiles huffed, almost chuckled.  It wasn’t much, it wasn’t a laugh, but it was the closest thing to it that Derek had heard come from the boy in months, and it was beautiful. Derek promises himself in that moment that he will do everything he can to hear it again.

 

“Yeah, I never did properly apologise for that. Sorry, man,” Stiles said lightly, fond humour thick in his voice.

 

“Eh, I’ll forgive you. Statistically speaking, I probably should have been the number one suspect anyway. Plus, I was kinda creepy back then.”

 

Stiles looks up at that, making eye contact with Derek from where he’s hovering near his bed a few feet away. Derek grins, and Stiles huffs again, still looking straight at Derek, lips curling up slightly in to an amused smile. Derek’s traitorous heart beats faster.

 

“Hell yeah, you were,” Stiles replies, maintaining eye contact with Derek.

 

“Of course, you would think that, there’s still a blood stain on your front seat from when I got shot,” Derek says humorously.

 

“Yeah, that’s one thing I’m definitely not going to miss. People bleeding out all over the place, all the time.”

 

Stiles’ face drops, breaking off eye contact with Derek and staring at the floor. He looks sad, sadder than usual, Derek can smell it in the air and he hates it. Derek had been worried about leaving something behind, the one thing he had. Stiles has a whole life here, so much that he’s giving up. Derek knows that Stiles needs to get away from this town, knows that he needs to get better, but he doesn’t want to make him do anything he’ll regret.

 

He has to ask.

 

“You know, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Derek says, voice soft and low as if he were afraid of startling the boy like a wild animal.

 

Suddenly, Stiles’ face changes, a mask of stubborn indignation and anger pulled over his tired face, a mirror image of what Derek had seen the night before.

 

“I’m leaving. I can’t stay in the god forsaken place a moment longer, it’s tearing me apart. If the only reason you’ve been going along with this is to try and talk me out of it, then you can leave right now, because I’m going with or without you.” Stiles’ voice is low and steady, but holding such concealed anger that it makes Derek’s hackles rise in retaliation.

 

“I’m not trying to stop you, Stiles!” Derek began, his voice rising in his indignation, “I’m just trying to make sure that this is what you want, that I’m not going to make you do something that you don’t want to do, is that so wrong?! If we’re going to do this, you need to get it in to your head that I am not going to leave you. I’m _not,_ do you hear me? If you’re going, then I’m going to be there beside you, okay?” Derek finishes, looking up at a rather shell-shocked Stiles before softening his voice and repeating, “Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Stiles says quietly, nodding his head softly.

 

“Have you got everything you need?” Derek asks, trying to shake off the tense atmosphere that had been created.

 

“Uh,” Stiles shakes his head slightly before turning to the open duffle bag on his bed, “Laptop and phone with chargers, clothes, underwear, drivers licence… think that’s pretty much it?”

 

“Pillow, Adderall, passport,” Derek says quickly, “those are important things, Stiles.”

 

“Shit…” Stiles says to himself, pottering around his room to grab his medication and his passport, “how did you know all that?”

 

“Just do,” Derek said shortly, “know you can’t sleep without your pillow, and that you’ll annoy the hell out of me in the car if you don’t have your pills.”

 

“Damn right,” Stiles agrees, huffing slightly, looking up at Derek with an unexpected softness in his eyes whilst he puts the things in his bag and plops his pillow on top, “wait. Passport? Why do I need my passport?”

 

Derek simply shrugs in response before grabbing the duffel bag off the bed and heading towards the window.

 

“I’ll meet you in the car in a minute. If you take too long I’m leaving without you,” Derek says before jumping out of the window.

 

“Dramatic,” Stiles mutters to himself before walking over to close the window.

 

Turning around, Stiles takes one more glance around his room before walking out of the door and closing it behind him. He doesn’t look back. Walking down the stairs and in to the entryway, Stiles takes one last moment to look around his childhood home. This used to be a place filled with happy memories, of his mom, of laughter and sunshine. It is no longer that place.

 

Looking to the kitchen, all Stiles can see is the memory of his father, drunk off his ass and crying, not even able to look as Stiles because it was his fault, all his fault. He sees the memory of his mother, screaming at him, throwing things at him because he’s evil, he’s wrong, he’s trying to _kill her_. He looks away from the kitchen quickly, tears stinging his eyes, heart in his throat.

 

He looks towards the living room and all he can see are the countless times he’s stitched someone up on his couch, nights spent wondering if someone else he cared about was going to die right in front of his eyes. He would tend to their wounds as often as he would tend to his own, the memory plays out before him, the night spent on the couch after being kidnapped by Gerard, trying not to scream every time he breathed. A ghost of the feeling is gripping his chest and he struggles to catch his breath.

 

Finally, he looks along the hallway, and all he can see is the phantom memory of blood streaking the floorboards, a pile of faceless corpses heaped at the foot of a man with his own face, staring back at him. His eyes are black, and his mouth is contorted in to a vile grin, so pleased, so happy about the chaos and sadness he has caused.

 

Stiles turns his back on the horrifying illusion, his chest tight and tears now running freely down his face. He opens the door, slamming it closed behind him and running for the Camaro, not stopping until he is firmly in his seat, door shut behind him. He’s still panting and crying, but he doesn’t look at Derek, just focuses on what he has to say.

 

“You get me out of this town. You get me the fuck out of this town and you do it as fast as you can,” he forces out before focusing more on his breathing, trying to stave off the impending panic attack.

 

The car is moving before Stiles even finished talking. Derek puts his foot to the floor, breaking a dozen speed limits and not caring for a second, he doesn’t ease up on the gas for a moment, not until he sees those beautiful words:

 

_You are now leaving_

_Beacon Hills_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> Please comment and leave Kudos if you had a good time.


	3. It Started When She Ran Away (Thumbs Out On The Interstate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole point of this trip in Derek’s mind had been to share and heal with one another. If in order to achieve that, Derek had to be the one to take the first step, then so be it.
> 
> OR
> 
> Finally driving away from Beacon Hills, Stiles learns a few things about the Hales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I'm so sorry this has taken so long, I wanted it to be up over a week ago but I had some last minute commitments covering for a colleague who's mother is sick.
> 
> I'm so overwhelmed with the amazing responses I'm getting, thank you so much to everyone who is keeping up with this!
> 
> As usual, this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own
> 
> Chapter title is from Misery by Green Day. (Is anybody noticing a theme, here?)

By the time that Stiles starts speaking again, anything more than a few stilted words, they’ve been on the road for a good couple of hours. About ten miles past the Beacon County Line, Stiles had inclined his head towards Derek, eyes avoiding contact like the plague, and had uttered a short ‘ _sorry’_ , to which Derek replied with an equally short, albeit soft and knowing ‘ _don’t be’_. Since then, silence.

 

He’s been staring out of the passenger’s side window, eyes tracking the scenery flying past as the sun slowly rises in the sky. Every few minutes, Derek glances away from the mostly empty road unfurling before them, and takes in the boy sat next to him. Stiles still looks tired and gaunt, but the warm golden rays of morning sun are illuminating the smooth pallor of his face, shining off of his long eyelashes and further accentuating the warm amber glow of his eyes. He looks so young like this, Derek thinks. Innocent, almost ethereal. Beautiful. Try as he might, Derek cannot stop looking over at him.

 

“You know, I’m not about to dive head first out of a moving car, you don’t have to keep watching me like I’m a flight risk,” Stiles eventually pipes up, eyes still fixed on the woodland encompassing the road they are on.

 

“I wasn’t,” Derek replies, internally cursing himself for sounding like a petulant child.

 

“You were,” Stiles shoots back, a very _no duh_ tone in his voice.

 

“Not because I thought you were going to barrel roll in to the road,” Derek says, indignant. “Surely my company isn’t that bad.”

 

Stiles huffs at that, and Derek supresses his smile. In lieu of a reply, Stiles turns his head slightly away from the window and flicks his eyes towards Derek.

 

“You just looked…” Derek pauses, unsure of how to finish his own sentence. All of the possibilities well up in his throat. He wants to tell Stiles that he looked like an angel, like a dream, but no, Derek can’t do that. Not now, maybe not ever.

“Like shit,” Stiles supplies, snark thick in his voice, “or like death, maybe? Something along those lines, I’m sure.”

 

“ _Tired,_ ” Derek says, cutting Stiles off. “You look tired. And hungry.”

 

Stiles hums noncommittally, which Derek knows is his agreement, and stares back out the window at the greenery. Derek begins to worry that he shouldn’t have said that, should have just kept his mouth shut, until Stiles once again breaks the silence.

 

“You know, the woods are kind of pretty when you aren’t worried that something is about to jump out of the shadows and maul you to death. Or kidnap you. Or use you as a human sacrifice.”

 

Derek huffs a laugh at that. “You know, a lot of the things that make the woods dangerous are also what make it a safe place.”

 

“How does that make sense?” Stiles says, turning fully around in his seat now to face Derek, who keeps his eyes resolutely on the road. If he’s going to be the one to start sharing, he doesn’t want to have to look at the pity in Stiles’ eyes.

 

“It’s a great place to hide from the outside world, lots of cover and natural barriers. It’s filled with natural resources that are key to survival; clean water, game and other food sources that can sustain life without having to leave the relative safety of the tree line. The main thing about the woods is that there is so much magic there, imbued in to the very soil is the earth magic that druids harness, the ecosystem of the forest is so old and revered that it actively creates its own magic, making it a perfect place for supernatural creatures to use their abilities. All of these things make it a hotspot for dark forces to live and work but it also makes it a place of safety and comfort for people like me.”

 

“Is that why your family lived there?” Stiles asks, his voice is hesitant, like he doesn’t want to push too hard, yet all of his attention is on Derek as he awaits a response.

 

Derek almost feels like he’s obligated to answer Stiles’ questions, even though they are of a personal nature. He had already told the boy that they would get around to sharing eventually; the whole point of this trip in Derek’s mind had been to share and heal with one another. If in order to achieve that, Derek had to be the one to take the first step, then so be it. He’s mildly uncomfortable under Stiles’ calculating gaze, so he nods sharply, dismissively. It is only when Stiles’ attention turns forward to look out at the road that Derek elaborates.

 

“My house was built generations ago by my ancestors. You know, back then my family pretty much owned the whole town, not just the preserve. We were,-“ Derek paused, clearing his throat before continuing, “We were one of the first families to settle in Beacon Hills, we helped build the place. The land there had always had powerful magic, which made it such a comforting place for shifters, it’s kind of why people are drawn there. The problem is, when you’re a shifter in a place with magic like that it feels kind of like… an animal trapped in a cage. You want to let it out so bad, but it’s not safe and the more you suppress it, the worse you feel. So, my great, great grandfather built the house with his bare hands deep in the preserve, so that we could be safe. Free.”

 

Derek all but whispers the final word. They’re just facts, really, he hasn’t talked about his feelings or anything like that. Just facts. But still, there is something in talking about his family like this that feels so important to Derek. Remembering them as they were all that time ago, before the world went up in flames along with the house they had built.

 

“Wow, man. That is definitely the most I have ever heard you say in one go before,” Stiles jokes, but his voice is slightly husky, a little choked, and betrays the humour the statement suggests.

 

“Probably the most I’ve said in a few years,” Derek replies, eyes remaining on the road, although he can see the frown that Stiles sends his way at those words.

 

“You mean, since Laura?” Stiles says, his previous hesitance returning with even greater force, and for good reason.

 

Derek isn’t ready for this. He needs time, he needs to work his way up to this, because Laura- _Laura._ “I don’t- I can’t-” He tries.

 

“Hey, man, it’s okay,” Stiles reassures, briefly touching Derek’s shoulder and sending sparks down his arm, “I’m sorry, that was too much, I shouldn’t have pushed.”

 

“No, it’s stupid. I should be able to hear her name without having a bad reaction. She was my best friend.” With every word he speaks, Derek becomes calmer, like a wave washing over him.

 

“It’s not stupid. Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, super smart? ‘Cause you really are.”

 

“No,” Derek says bluntly, and breathes heavily for a second, collecting himself before flicking his eyes across to meet Stiles’ for the first time since that morning, drawing in a quick breath and saying, “Thank you.”

 

Stiles smiles. Small and warm, but lasting. Derek’s stomach clenches.

 

“You’re welcome,” Stiles replies.

 

Then, smile still in place, he tips his head back on to the seat and his eyes slide shut, letting the warm morning sun wash over his tired features, and his long eyelashes fan out over his porcelain cheeks and Derek can hardly breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed, and any helpful comments would be appreciated!


	4. Once Upon A Time (Before The Rain Began)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, my god,” Derek says suddenly, Stiles’ head snapping up at the abrupt change in tone. “It’s still here.”
> 
> OR
> 
> Derek revisits a part of his childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this update took so long, but I managed to spill water on my laptop and lose everything that I had written so I had to start again!
> 
> However, I have started a tumblr, which I plan to upload my work to and use as a place to let people know what is going on with me and the story between updates, so please have a look at thewolfwiththeredrose if you're interested!
> 
> Chapter title is from Tom's Diner by Suzanne Vega.

They had long since crossed the state line in to Oregon when Derek sees a rusted signpost pointing down a seemingly long-forgotten road off the old highway. In that moment, he finally decides where their first destination should be. It’s been a few hours since either of them last spoke, but the silence isn’t as tense as it had been. Stiles is still sat with his eyes closed, breathing deep and even, and more peaceful than Derek has seen him in a long time. His heartbeat is slow and steady, but still as strong as ever, and the sound of it thumps through Derek’s ears as he turns off the interstate on to the dirt-lined road. The feel of the car turning must have alerted Stiles to their change of course, because he opened his eyes for the first time in hours, blinking until they adjust to the light. Derek thought he looked kind of like a cub in that moment, waking from a nap and wanting to hide from the brightness of the sun.

 

“Where we headed, big guy?” Stiles asked, his voice soft, likely from being so close to sleep, yet still clinging to the edge of wakefulness.

 

“Final destination for the day? No idea. But I- I just had this jolt of memory, you know?” he said back, just as softly, “Something that I’d almost forgotten, but I saw a road sign a few minutes back and I just have to see if the old place is still there.”

 

“What place?” Stiles prodded further, turning his whole body to face Derek now, who keeps his eyes resolutely on the road before him.

 

“It’s probably not even there anymore. When I was a kid, every summer we used to leave my aunts and uncles in charge of the territory and make the trip as a family up to visit a pack that we had a strong alliance with. They lived somewhere in the woods near Astoria, I think, I was very young at the time. We’d make it a road trip and drive up, always leaving super early in the morning and stopping off at this tiny roadside diner. I just wanna- I wanna see.”

 

Derek could feel Stiles’ eyes on him as he spoke, assessing and curious, although when he braved a glance over at Stiles, the expression on the boy’s face was one that Derek had never seen before.

 

“Tell me more about it,” Stiles says softly. He makes it sound like a question, the suggestion that Stiles doesn’t want to pry where he would be unwelcome, that he would let Derek back out if he wanted to only makes Derek trust the boy even more.

 

“Laura used to get so excited every year,” Derek says, voice quiet and wistful, he ignores the quick intake of breath that he hears from Stiles at the mention or Laura’s name, “that she would wear her clothes to bed so that she could run down to the car as soon as she woke up. She’d always be the first one there.” Derek chuckled sadly, taking a second to breathe deeply, steadying himself before continuing. “She’s always shout at the top of her lungs when we crossed the state line and get everyone in the car to join in with her. From then on, she’d be searching for the sign on the side of the road advertising the breakfast sandwiches. They were as big as your head, she could never finish it but she’d always try her hardest before giving me what was left.”

 

As he spoke he felt his throat close, blinking hard against the water welling in his eyes. In that moment, he couldn’t tell what he was reacting to; the fact that he missed Laura so much that it hurt him every single day, that those memories were so long ago, or that he almost let himself forget such happy, good memories.

 

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Stiles says, adopting a similar wistful tone to Derek, “I always wanted to make memories like that. Siblings, family road trips, fun little traditions. Guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”

 

Derek opens his mouth to reply, to tell Stiles that _this_ right now is a memory that they are making, that Stiles’ time to have a family and make traditions isn’t over yet, that his _life_ isn’t over yet, but the words get stuck in his throat when he sees a building quickly approaching.

 

“Oh, my god,” Derek says suddenly, Stiles’ head snapping up at the abrupt change in tone. “It’s still here.”

 

Derek swings the Camaro in to the small gravel parking lot, awed smile gracing his features as he takes in the familiar sight of the diner, so engrossed in the nostalgia that he misses Stiles looking at him, smiling in return.

 

***

 

Tom’s Diner is just as Derek remembered. It’s everything that is to be expected from a fifties style roadside diner, just shrunk down. There is a total of six red vinyl booths, three on each wall exposing a strip of black and white chequered tile flooring from the door to the counter where three stools are lined up and a middle-aged man stands smiling behind a retro looking cash register. Derek smiles tightly at the man behind the counter before ushering Stiles sideways in to one of the booths.

 

“Anything specific you want, or should I just go ahead and order for both of us?” Derek asks Stiles, who has been sat twiddling his thumbs instead of looking at the menu.

 

“You go ahead,” Stiles replies, the sound of Derek’s voice seemingly pulling him out of whatever train of thought was running through his mind, “you know what I like, right?”

 

The question shouldn’t sound like a challenge, but to Derek it does. In that moment, Derek feels such an intense need to show Stiles that _yes, he knows him, Stiles can trust him, Derek would be so good to him,_ that he simply nods before going to the counter to order their food. The man behind the counter smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle, and it makes Derek think of the way Stiles used to smile before… before.

 

After ordering their food, he heads back to their booth, a cup of coffee in each hand, one black, one with cream and two sugars, just the way Stiles likes it. As he’s setting the mugs down on the table, colourful flashing lights from the corner of the room draw his attention. Derek grins slightly to himself when he recognises the source of the flashing, ignoring Stiles’ inquisitive gaze as he holds up his finger in a ‘wait a second’ gesture.

 

Derek scans his eyes over the old juke box for a few seconds before he finds the song that he is looking for, pressing the button before going back to sit opposite Stiles as the melodic sound of a soft female voice fills the quiet air.

 

_I am sitting in the morning at the diner on the corner._

“What is this?” Stiles asks, brows furrowed in confusion or possible recognition.

 

“Tom’s Diner is named after this song, it’s by an artist called-”

 

“Suzanne Vega,” Stiles says, cutting Derek off, “my mom used to like her.”

 

Derek pauses. In all the time that Derek has known him, Stiles very rarely mentions his mother. He knows the basics, sure, that her name was Claudia and died when Stiles was about eight, but beyond that Derek knows very little about the woman. He waits to see if Stiles will expand on what he has shared, but when the silence stretches on just a little too long, Derek can’t help but try to make Stiles comfortable again in the only way he seems to be able to anymore. Talking.

 

“Mine, too,” Derek says, coughing against the lump in his throat, “she used to sing us kids her songs as lullabies when we were pups. My dad always used to read books to us.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but the man from behind the counter approaches their table and places a breakfast sandwich in front of Derek, and an order of curly fries with a chocolate milkshake in front of Stiles, who smiles slightly at Derek as if to say _yeah, you know me_. It makes Derek sit a little taller in his seat. They eat in mostly silence, although it isn’t as uncomfortable as Derek had feared. When they’re finished with their food, Stiles excuses himself to the bathroom, and Derek resolutely ignores the half-finished order of fries and focuses on the empty milkshake, because it’s still more that he’s seen Stiles eat in weeks.

 

It is in this time, when Derek is alone, that he really thinks about where he is, what he is doing. He’s _talking about his family_ and it doesn’t feel like a knife to the gut every time. It’s hard, and it hurts to think about them, because he’s so _guilty_ deep down, but he thinks about the way that Stiles looks at him when he talks, the way that he asks questions but never pushes and doesn’t seem so caught up in his own head whilst Derek is talking, he thinks about all of these things and he figures yeah, it may hurt him to think about them so much, but if he can help Stiles then it’s worth every second.

 

Derek is so deep in thought that he doesn’t even hear Stiles approaching the booth until he is asking Derek if he is okay, his hand resting at the juncture between Derek’s neck and shoulder, warmth coursing through the skin beneath. The warmth continues to spread all through Derek’s body until most of the tension has leaked out of his muscles, and his hearing has fixed on Stiles’ heartbeat, which is slowly quickening the longer Derek stays silent.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Talked a lot today. Not used to it,” Derek replies, and he knows he sounds terse but what he said is true, he isn’t used to talking, sharing, opening up. It’s frightening.

 

“Oh,” Stiles says, an odd, hesitant quality to his voice, “you know, you don’t have to talk so much if you aren’t comfortable. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

 

“I know,” Derek says, voice soft and almost intimate, “that’s why I want to.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles repeats, this time with more surprise in his voice, and a slight smile curling his lips which drops quickly before he says, “look, I know I haven’t exactly been sharing as much, but I will, I’ll get there. Listening to you has been really helpful and I-”

 

“When I told you we’d get there together, I meant it. You don’t owe me anything, remember that,” Derek says, a slightly serious tone to his voice.

 

Stiles pulls his lips tight in a sad smile, eyes dropping to the floor as he mutters a faint “ _That’s what you think, big guy”_ under his breath that Derek is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear, so he pretends like he didn’t. Instead, he places his hand on top of Stiles’ on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before standing from the booth, and leading Stiles back out to the Camaro and the waiting road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Little side note; my dad used to sing me Suzanne Vega songs as lullabies when I was a kid, and I'm taking his to see her live soon (I'm super excited) so I definitely recommend listening to her work!


	5. I Hear You Callin’ (But I Can’t Come Home Right Now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jarring electronic ringing noise splitting through the comfortable silence in the car is what snaps Derek back into the present. It takes him a few seconds to register that the sound must be Stiles’ phone ringing from his backpack that was haphazardly slung on to the back seat some hours ago. It isn’t until he looks over at Stiles that his stomach drops to his feet.
> 
> OR
> 
> Derek loves to read, and Stiles doesn't want to answer his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the great feedback so far! Hopefully you enjoy this one!
> 
> WARNING: Please check the tags. There is a description of a panic attack in this chapter. It's not very graphic because it's written from an outside perspective, but please do not read if you think this could trigger you in any way.
> 
> Chapter title is from Beth by Kiss.
> 
> UPDATE 19/10/17: This story WILL be contunuing soon!! I’m sorry for stupidly slow updates, I’m in my final year of University and the work is catching up with me, but the next chapter will be with y’all soon!

It’s well past noon by the time that Stiles’ phone rings for the first time. Honestly, Derek had expected it much sooner, but then again nobody but him had paid attention to Stiles before, so he isn’t sure why he had expected it to be any different when they left town.

 

They have been on the road ever since they left Tom’s, and to Derek’s utter surprise the ride hasn’t been silent. The conversation had started rather hesitantly, but Stiles was the one to start it, so Derek saw that as a win.

 

“So, you like reading because of your dad? Whenever you were hanging around in the loft you pretty much always had a book in your hands” Stiles asked, voice soft and hesitant, as if Derek were an animal that he didn’t want to spook. Derek couldn’t tell whether the question was intended to get him to talk about his father, or about books, but he made up his mind on the spot to go with the safer option, to get Stiles to talk, to hear his voice even if he’s not really _saying_ anything.

 

“Yeah, kind of,” Derek began, relaxing backward in to his seat, trying to adopt a casual air about him to steer the conversation to comfortable ground. “My dad used to like classics, so I used to read a lot of those, but there’s only so many times that a guy can re-read Lord of the Rings without feeling the need to branch out a little.”

 

“You like Lord of the Rings?” Stiles asked, amusement thick in his voice, eyes slanted towards Derek and the smallest of smirks lifting the corner of his mouth and oh. Oh. “You’re a nerd. The great Derek Hale, leather-clad stubbly cool guy is a _nerd._ ”

 

That smirk had been absent for so long that Derek had almost forgotten what it looked like, so infuriating and antagonistic that he had hated the sight of it for so long, right up until it was gone, when all he could do was live in hope that it would soon return to once again send his heart in to a flutter that he had always thought meant irritation. How wrong he had been.

 

“Hey, don’t judge me,” Derek replied, voice gruff in false defence, causing Stiles to jokingly hold his palms up in surrender.

 

“Not judging,” Stiles replied, smirk still firmly in place, “but you must be warned that I reserve the right to get you to talk nerdy to me later.”

 

“Understood,” Derek replied, secretly looking forward to it, adopting a teasing tone to his voice before continuing, “as long as it isn’t about the history of male circumcision. I may have branched out with my reading, but not quite that far.”

 

“I’ll have you know, it’s a much more interesting topic than you would assume,” Stiles retorted after throwing a mocking affronted gaze at Derek and huffing a short laugh. “So, what is your favourite genre to read?”

 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Derek said, side-eyeing Stiles who raised his hand and drew a cross over his heart with his index finger. Derek figured that was good enough. “I like fantasy books. Supernatural fantasy books.”

 

“Dude, you’re kidding,” Stiles replied, snapping his head towards Derek, pinching his lips together to avoid laughing but the amusement rolled off him in waves. “Surely, that’s the last thing you would spend your time on. We practically live in a supernatural fantasy novel. Or, like, maybe a TV show, or some shitty fanfiction, I don’t know, but still. Why would you want to read that stuff as well?”

 

“A couple’ reasons, firstly it’s funny reading some of the stuff that authors make up about supernaturals, like, some of the origin stories I’ve read for ‘wolves and vamps are hilarious,” Derek began, he could see Stiles nodding from the corner of his eye, surely the boy had come across some of this fiction in his research, “but mostly I think it’s the escapism. I know that sounds weird because like you said, I’m pretty much living it, but I guess it’s like when single people read romance novels, with these books you always know that good overcomes evil and there’s a happily ever after and I just like that, you know?”

 

“Yeah, I get it,” Stiles said, his voice softened with understanding, “I guess I feel the same about research. Like, I know shit about creatures we don’t even know are real yet, but I enjoy it because it makes me feel like if we ever do meet something new, we won’t be in the dark, there could still be a happy ending. Even then, I still like to read fiction. Like you said, escapism.”

 

“I was the same when I was younger, before everything,” Derek replied, keeping his tone light, focusing on the conversation and not on the past, “I used to read all of the books I could find at home about my pack and our history, our lore. It’s come in handy a lot with pack stuff in the last couple of years but I’ve never really been good at researching or seeking out information that wasn’t easy to find. I would never have got this far without you.”

 

Derek glanced over to gauge Stiles’ reaction. The boy looked set to argue, his brows pinched and jaw set, stubborn and beautiful in a way that Derek kicked himself for not noticing sooner. He opened his mouth to speak, but Derek saw the moment his face relaxed in to an almost unreadable expression.

 

“We’re a good team,” Stiles said, his voice had an odd, airy quality, as if the statement had come as a revelation.

 

Derek simply nodded in reply, his mind cast itself back to all the times when that fact had proven itself to be true. Every plan they had hatched, every research session, every time they had almost lost someone and had relied upon the other for support.

 

The jarring electronic ringing noise splitting through the comfortable silence in the car is what snaps Derek back into the present. It takes him a few seconds to register that the sound must be Stiles’ phone ringing from his backpack that was haphazardly slung on to the back seat some hours ago. It isn’t until he looks over at Stiles that his stomach drops to his feet.

 

“I meant to turn that off before we left,” Stiles says. Although his voice sounds moderately steady, Derek can hear the quickening of his heartbeat, the shortening of his breaths, can smell the panic souring his scent. The boy is scrambling now, leaning back between the gap in the seats to try and reach his bag, but turns back to Derek empty handed. “Derek, pull over.”

 

Derek wordlessly complies, swinging the car off the tree-lined road and on to the hard shoulder. He is silently grateful that they are driving the back roads rather than the interstate, there are hardly any other cars on this stretch at all. The car has hardly stopped moving when Stiles gracelessly jumps out of the vehicle, tearing open the back door and ripping open the zip of his backpack with little finesse. Derek rounds the car in time to see the boy pull out his phone, hands shaking, he doesn’t look at the screen, simply opens the back casing of the phone and pulls out the battery, silence once again spreading through the air.

 

Stiles throws the pieces of his phone on to the back seat, before placing his hands on the roof off the car and dropping his head down on to the sun-warmed metal. Derek can hear the raggedness of Stiles’ breathing, the quick pace of his heart not slowing, and knows that he has to act before Stiles’ panic escalates.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re alright,” Derek says, trying to sound as comforting as possible. He doesn’t want to crowd the boy, or touch him too much when he is this vulnerable, so he stays a few paces back, keeping his senses alert.

 

“I can’t go back, Der, I can’t even think about that place,” Stiles gasps, breath coming in and out in great uncontrollable gulps, “I left everyone, I _left everyone,_ but I can’t face them yet, Der, I can’t- I can’t go back, I can’t think, I can’t _breathe-_ ”

 

Stiles’ speech is broken by his panicked breaths, but it’s still quick and disjointed like his mouth can’t keep up with his brain. All Derek wants is to help the boy, doesn’t want to do anything that could be unwelcome, but when he sees the shaking in Stiles’ legs he steps towards him and places a large, grounding hand on Stiles’ slim waist, partly for comfort, and partly in case his legs give out and he needs catch the boy. The second that Derek’s hand touches Stiles, the warmth from the boy’s flesh spreads across his skin, working its way up his arm, across his shoulder, spreading through his whole being and- why does this always happen when he touches Stiles?

 

Derek pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the boy in front of him. In the weeks before they left town, he had been observing Stiles, checking in on him, watching out for him. After everything, Derek knows that Stiles’ own brain is more of a danger to him than anything else, he’ll work himself up in to a worse panic unless Derek does something, distracts him somehow.

 

“You know, I always hate the way so many people think that Frodo is the main character in the Lord of the Rings,” Derek begins. Stiles makes a vaguely questioning noise in the back of his throat, his breathing still ragged. “Well, firstly, the characters are in a fellowship, every member of that group was just as integral to the story and everyone else. One member of that group isn’t there, the whole thing falls apart. It isn’t all about Frodo.”

 

“True,” Stiles says. His breathing is starting to slow and his heartbeat is regulating, but the sour scent of panic and anxiety is still thick in the air. “The story follows everyone from the fellowship, even when they aren’t together. It’s kind of the point.”

 

“Exactly,” Derek continues, “and, I mean, gun to my head you make me choose someone to be the main character, it’s Samwise, hands down. There’s no way Frodo would have made it out of Hobbiton alive, let alone to Mordor, if it hadn’t been for Sam. Besides, Frodo is pretty cool in the beginning, but by the end he really gets on my nerves.”

 

Stiles barks out a laugh at that, it sounds a little hysterical, like a laugh made up of nervous energy manifesting itself in to a sound. Derek misses the way Stiles used to laugh, head thrown back, eyes squeezed closed, long neck arching. He promises himself that one day he’ll see that again.

 

“Oh yeah,” Stiles replies. His breathing and heartbeat have slowed to a less worrying level, his legs are still trembling and he is yet to lift his head from the roof of the car. “I love Sam. The underappreciated sidekick, a man after my own heart.” Stiles’ tone is slightly bitter when he talks and Derek just wants him to understand, to see-

 

“I appreciate you,” Derek stutters out, only he doesn’t really mean to. Derek has never been very brave with words, always too afraid of saying the wrong thing, when actions are usually so much easier to understand. Words too often mean things that they don’t _say,_ like double entendre and intonation, the _way_ you say something is just as important as _what_ you say and, well, Derek has never been good at that. When it comes down to it, he wants Stiles to know what he means to Derek, even if he does wish he could say it in a less stilted, emotionally constipated way.

 

At Derek’s words, Stiles finally lifts his head from the roof of the car. In one quick but shaky move, he turns towards Derek and barrels forwards in to him, wrapping his trembling arms around the older man’s waist and burying his head in the muscled chest before him. Derek has never seen Stiles hug like this. With the pack, with Scott or his Dad, Stiles always goes over the shoulder, pat on the back, short squeeze and separate. Never before has he seen Stiles cling to someone like this, wrap himself around a body, bury himself in the person before him and just _hold_.

 

“I appreciate you, too,” Stiles chokes out, his voice muffled by Derek’s chest but the words ring out clear in the older man’s head. Derek thinks that maybe this is one of those times when words have more than one meaning, but he doesn’t really know what that could mean.

 

Instead of thinking about it too hard, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls the boy even closer to himself, embracing the way the warm tingling that he has come to associate with Stiles’ touch spreads throughout his being. His whole body melts in to the hug, and he idly thinks that this is probably the most physical human contact he has had since Laura died.

 

The scent of comfort reaches Derek’s nose and he recognises that it is coming from Stiles. Derek preens slightly at having calmed the boy, and takes a few moments to subtly bury his nose in Stiles’ hair and take in his scent. In the beginning, Stiles had smelled to Derek like teenage boy hormones, medication and sugar, not all that bad really, but not very different to most teenaged boys. After spending time with him, being in his space that is saturated with his scent, Derek has realised that Stiles’ scent is much more complex. Underneath, Stiles smells like books, and cinnamon, and chocolate, and coffee, and _home._ Stiles’ scent is his favourite smell.

 

Standing on a roadside in the middle of nowhere, Oregon, with Stiles in his arms, Stiles’ scent in his nose, and Stiles’ heartbeat drumming in his ears, Derek Hale falls in love with the same boy all over again. Stiles is definitely the Sam to his Frodo.


	6. Objects in the Rear-View Mirror (May Appear Closer Than They Are)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though he is aware that he’s being teased, Derek still turns to look at himself in the rear-view mirror. Stiles was right; there are dark circles under his eyes, not as prominent as Stiles’ own, but very visible, and unsurprising considering everything. How much he’s had on his mind the last few weeks, the lack of sleep the last few days, and how much he has felt in the last few hours alone had been draining.
> 
> OR
> 
> Stiles and Derek begin to talk about what exactly they left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON!
> 
> (I'm currently trying to finish my degree, but I WILL NOT abandon this story, I've got big plans for it!)
> 
> Chapter title is from the song of the same name by Meatloaf.

The sun is dipping below the horizon, light disappearing fast, and Stiles hasn’t said a word since Derek managed to manoeuvre him back in to the car on that roadside in Oregon. He racks his brain for what else he could say, what he could do, and before he knows it they’ve been driving is silence for another fifteen minutes, so Derek leans over and turns on the radio.

 

It’s awful, really. Some terrible Top 40 station that Stiles had tuned his radio to months ago and Derek isn’t entirely sure how to retune. It’s not really Derek’s kind of music, but he always ends up turning it on when he’s alone in his car because it fills the silence and reminds him of Stiles, carefree and singing loud. So, it really isn’t all that surprising that by now Derek knows most of the words to the trashy pop songs slowly working their way down the charts as the weeks roll by. He begins singing along softly, and he registers the exact moment that Stiles notices him singing. He doesn’t turn his body around, or laugh like he once would have, he just inclines his head towards Derek, side-eyeing him as if the older man can’t see him looking, before looking away.

 

It’s unnerving him, how silent Stiles is being. It’s something entirely different to usual; Derek has seen Stiles like this before, but only in those darkest of times that he doesn’t like to recall. His eyes are open, looking out at where the last rays of daylight are colouring the clouds orange and pink, but his stare is blank and hollow, like he’s looking but not really seeing anything. His eyes are half lidded, his mouth slack, appearing once again like the sickly pale, sleep deprived, malnourished boy that Derek was so desperate to bundle up and keep from harm.

 

How did they not _see_ this?

 

How did they not notice his pain, or how he withdrew from them?

 

A familiar anger begins to grow in Derek. A pack was supposed to look after its members, support each other and keep one another safe, not ignore all the clear signs that one of their own is struggling.

 

Derek took a deep breath through his nose. _In. Out._

 

He thinks of Stiles’ panic at the thought of returning to Beacon Hills and has to once again tamp down his rage. He’s vaguely aware that he must have stopped singing, because he’s breathing hard, his hands are grasping the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, and his claws are itching to break out.

 

He breathes again- _In. Out. In. Out._ -filling his nose with the scents around him, grounding himself. He can smell the leather of his upholstery, the coffee-to-go from Tom’s Diner left to go cold in the cup holder, and he can smell Stiles. Underneath all the chemosignals, under the anxiety, the exhaustion, the fear and the chalky, artificial scent of medication is _Stiles._ Coffee, caramel, cream. Books, pencil shavings, ink. Blood, skin, clean sweat. Something… _else._

Slowly, he breathes. He calms. He realises that Stiles is looking at him now, confused pinch between his brows, likely at Derek’s momentary loss of control. He clears his throat.

 

“How do you feel about finding some dinner, then seeing about where we could stop for the night?” Derek asks, not really expecting much of an answer either way, but wanting to let Stiles know that he does have a say in whatever it is they end up doing.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says faintly before clearing his throat, “yeah, that sounds good.”

 

***

 

By the time Derek spots a motel along the stretch of country road, the radio station has made a full rotation of the Top 40, and the sky has grown an inky black. For all that he has been near silent for hours, Stiles still seems to be with him, watching the trees roll by and inclining his head more towards Derek during songs that he seems to favour. That fact almost makes Derek smile.

 

The place looks somewhat seedy, complete with drained pool and flickering lights, but it’s the first place he’s seen for miles, and the fact that he stayed up the whole of the previous night thinking about this trip is starting to catch up with him. There a small diner attached to the far side of the motel with some trucks hauled up outside, and the promise of greasy food and a bed is enough to have Derek turning in to the parking lot.

 

“I know it looks pretty run-down, but it’ll have to do for tonight,” Derek sighs as he turns off the ignition and looks at Stiles, “I’m exhausted.”

 

“No offence buddy, but you look it,” Stiles retorts, meeting Derek’s gaze, and although his voice is falling short of truly amused, Derek really appreciates the effort.

 

Even though he is aware that he’s being teased, Derek still turns to look at himself in the rear-view mirror. Stiles was right; there are dark circles under his eyes, not as prominent as Stiles’ own, but very visible, and unsurprising considering everything. How much he’s had on his mind the last few weeks, the lack of sleep the last few days, and how much he has _felt_ in the last few hours alone had been draining.

 

“Hey,” Stiles says, pulling Derek from his self-inspection, “I’m sorry,” his voice is solemn and soft, but he still manages to cut Derek off when he opens his mouth, “I know you said we are in this together and- and I’m not trying to make you leave, I promise, I just…

 

“I left Beacon Hills because everywhere I looked all I saw was the things I’d done, the things I’d been through, the disappointment and fear on everyone’s faces, like I was volatile and could go off at any moment. I couldn’t live that way anymore. You told me not to ask questions I don’t want to be asked in return. Well, that’s my answer, that’s why I left. You left your apartment, your _home_ , and your pack, and now you’re exhausted and that’s because of me. Why did you leave, Derek? Why did you come with me?”

 

Derek expects Stiles to look away from him when he talks, but he holds Derek’s eyes with purpose. His voice is steady, his heart is calm, and the air in the silent car is still with anticipation. Derek already knew most of what Stiles said, of course he did, but that didn’t stop him from being shocked by the outburst. Even so, Derek hardly waits a beat before he replies.

 

“Stiles, Beacon Hills hasn’t been my real home in a long time,” he says, voice full of honesty, “and as for _pack,_ ” Derek can’t help but snarl the word, breaking eye contact with Stiles, ashamed with his lack of control, “Pack are supposed to help one another, care for each other before anything else. They never wanted me as their Alpha, fine, they have their own pack and I’m the lone wolf, whatever, but they didn’t _care_ , they didn’t even bother to notice. I saw your pain for what it was a long time ago, I wanted to talk to them, get them to help you, but by the time I realised how _oblivious_ they were, I figured out what you were planning. They aren’t my pack, Stiles. They’re hardly a pack at all.”

 

“That’s why you were so angry,” Stiles said, voice heavy with understanding, “it wasn’t _me,_ it was _them._ ”

 

Derek didn’t reply to that, simply nodded, staring down at his steering wheel.

 

“So, you left because you had no reason to stay?” Stiles asked, pushing further, ever the inquisitive mind.

 

“ _No,_ I left _because_ of pack. You are more like pack to me than they ever were, and you needed me,” Derek replied, looking back at Stiles and taking a deep breath of the comforting scent permeating the car, “So, I did what I thought would help. Like pack is supposed to.”

 

“Good answer,” Stiles replied, a smile stretching across his lips, that causes Derek to grin in response.

 

“Come on, we’ll see if we can get a room for the night, then I’ll go and pick up some food and bring it back to the room. Don’t really feel like sitting in a diner full of truckers,” Derek says, climbing out of the car and slamming his door, waiting for Stiles to do the same.

 

“Not like you to be intimidated,” Stiles replied teasingly, looking at Derek over the top of his car as he closes his door.

 

“Not intimidated,” Derek responds, mouth quirking up in to a smirk, “truckers smell.”

 

The sound of Stiles’ short laugh has Derek turning to watch the grin widen on the boy’s face. It’s not much, but that sound is one of Derek’s favourites, second only to the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat.

 

“It’s true,” Derek says defensively as they walk towards the motel reception side by side, the brushing of their arms sending sparks up to Derek’s shoulder, “it’s the travel, being confined in a small space for a long time makes them smell like stale sweat. It’s gross.”

 

“Ah right, of course. God only knows what I smell like right now, then,” Stiles huffs out.

 

Derek doesn’t tell him that he smells like home.


	7. As My Memory Rests (But Never Forgets What I Lost)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is woken by the sounds of screaming. Not an unusual experience for Derek, as his dreams are often plagued by the choking voices of those he has lost. He flings his eyes open to rouse himself from his sleep and takes a deep breath in. That is when he notices it. 
> 
> OR
> 
> Stiles and Derek argue some, and finally settle in for the first night away from Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Please read changes to tags! This chapter contains descriptions of night terrors, and also use of the word "spaz" as an insult (which I personally hate with a passion, but it is used in the show as a descriptor for Stiles).
> 
> Chapter titles is from Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day.

Walking into the motel reception, all Derek can think about is finding a safe, warm room to take Stiles, so they can actually sleep for the first time in days. The motel looks just as grim inside as Derek had predicted, the cracked paint on the walls is yellowed from nicotine stains and the stale smell of cigarette smoke permeates the room. When he looks towards the check-in desk, the woman behind it assesses them both with a considering eye before her lips stretch into a terrifying grin. Immediately, Derek’s hackles rise.

 

“Hey there, boys, what can I do ya’ for?” she says, her voice saccharine in a way that puts Derek further on edge.

 

“Twin room for one night, please,” Derek says, aware that his voice has dropped low and that his words are clipped. He can feel Stiles’ gaze on him, likely confused at his impoliteness and at the scowl twisting his features that had not been there a minute ago. The woman’s smile drops briefly before she smirks, eyes flicking between the two men in front of her.

 

“Sure you don’t want two rooms?” she replies, eyes settling on Derek and batting her eyelashes, “I could drop by for a nightcap in a little while, if you’d like?”

 

“No, thanks,” Stiles says, voice hard. Derek turns to see the carefully blank look on his face, and wonders briefly what has made Stiles put his defences up, before his train of thought is abruptly derailed.

 

“Wasn’t talkin’ to you, spaz,” she hisses, a harsh tone to her voice as her eyes flick to Stiles in blatant distain, before turning back to Derek with a grin, saying sweetly, “what do you say, tall, dark and handsome?”

 

“Twin room for one night. _Please_.” Derek reiterates, top lip curling to show his sharp teeth in an animalistic display of aggravation. With an annoyed huff, the woman rolls her eyes before ringing them up and walking in to the back to fetch their room key.

 

He is aware that he should know better, that he shouldn’t let himself snarl like this at humans, but for some reason his wolf is on edge. Derek doesn’t know what it is, whether it’s the cloying scent of her lust in the air, how she dared to speak to Stiles like he was shit on her shoe, or that he’s so tired he’s become _cranky_ , but whatever it is, his wolf has been feeling defensive ever since they stepped through the door. He can feel it within him, hackles raised and growling harshly.

 

Derek hadn’t realised that he had clenched his fists until he felt Stiles’ shoulder knock in to his own, followed by a phantom pass of fingertips over his knuckles. He looks down to his hand as he slowly unclenches, the itching of his claws under his fingernails lessening as Stiles’ touch has its usual relaxing effect, but when he looks up again, Stiles’ eyes are scanning his face, searching, a questioning look drawing his brows together. Derek simply shakes his head once, before turning back to the desk, taking their key from the sour-faced woman, and going to find their room.

 

***

 

When they reach their room, Derek ushers Stiles inside silently, before following himself and locking the door. The moment he does so, he feels much less on edge, his muscles begin to relax as his exhaustion hits him at full force. The room is just as grim as the reception, smelling like cheap aerosol air freshener and cigarettes, however, thankfully the sheets smell clean. Derek throws his bag on the closest of the two beds before going to use their tiny en-suite bathroom. When he returns, it is to see Stiles sat on the far bed, staring blankly at his hands.

 

“Stiles?” Derek says, to no response, “Stiles?” he repeats, and caramel eyes flick up to meet green before dropping sharply.

 

“You know, you don’t have to keep eyes on me all the time, I already told you I’m not a flight risk,” Stiles says harshly, eyes fixed on his hands clasped between his knees, “I get that you wanted to help me because my pack didn’t, or _whatever_ , but you are allowed to leave me alone, Derek. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

 

“Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?” Derek asks, voice harsher than he intends, as he takes off his leather jacket and throws it onto the bed, “Did you want separate rooms? I’ll just get two next time.” He subtly scents the air, finding Stiles’ scent layered with multiple emotions; frustration, anger and… sadness?

 

“The girl, in the reception,” Stiles answers like it’s the most obvious thing, like Derek is an idiot. He lifts his head to look at the older man, “You said it yourself, you’re the lone wolf, you’re probably used to getting to do whatever you want, and look, I’m sorry I answered for you without checking first but that was no reason to get so _angry_ at me _,_ man. If you wanted to go with her you should have said yes, hell, she’s probably still out there now, go ahead, I don’t care.”

 

 _Lie._ All Derek can hear is the stuttering of Stiles’ heart over those last words. Words. Words are hard for Derek, and they are all caught in his throat at the realisation that Stiles thought Derek had been angry _with him._ Derek knows that he needs to think carefully before he spea-

 

“Are you an idiot?” Derek blurted, voice louder than he had intended, and, as always, not saying what he had wanted, “You thought I was angry because I wanted her? You thought I was angry _with you?_ ”

 

“Well, _yeah,_ I guess,” Stiles replies, voice loud and indignant, betraying the sheepish confusion of his words. “What else am I supposed to think? You get all mad and you don’t tell me why, and then when I try to see if you’re going to wolf out on me or something, you just shake your head at me, like, what does that even mean?!”

 

The boy gets up as he talks, flinging his arms wide and gesticulating wildly, amber eyes squinting in anger towards his companion. Derek hates that he loves seeing Stiles like this, full of mirth, full of _life_ , far better than seeing him staring sadly out of a window. But, even that thought isn’t enough to stop Derek’s traitorous mouth from running away from him.

“I was trying to hold it together, excuse me for not being talkative!” Derek raises his voice and retorts, instantly regretting his aggression but not able to reign in his frustration. He needs Stiles to understand. “I don’t want to _fuck her_ , Stiles,” he continues, eyes focused on the boy now only a few feet away from him, who visibly flinches at the words, “I _hate_ people like that, people who look at me like a piece of meat, like the only thing I’ve got going for me is the way I look. God, and the _smell_ turns my fucking stomach. Pure lust; no emotions, no comfort or caring. Lust smells like- like-“ Derek pauses. It smells like she did. It smells like things that he doesn’t want to remember, let alone speak of. Like acid, and ashes and death. Stiles’ face has gone soft before him, but that’s not what he wants, not now. “And if that’s not bad enough, she was fucking rude to you.”

 

“Since when do you care about being rude to me?” Stiles replies, but there is no accusation in his tone, and he fold back down to sit on the bed like the fight has seeped out of his bones, “She called me a spaz, I’m used to it. It’s no worse than anything you’ve called me in the past.”

 

Derek is taken aback by that. He knows he had been terrible to Stiles in the beginning. This boy, all limbs and nervous energy, flailed in to his life and turned everything upside-down, and was so much better at dealing with everything than Derek himself, who should have known best. He reacted badly, but knows now that Stiles is so much more than he first appeared. Derek takes a deep breath to calm himself, filtering through the scents of the room to find the familiar aroma of Stiles.

 

“Look, I’m not trying to put this on you because I know I need to learn to control my anger, but please stop assuming that I’m mad at you. I’m not angry with you, Stiles, I never was,” Derek says firmly to the boy, who is listening silently.  He pauses, thinking. “I never meant it, you know,” he continues, voice soft and warm, like a thick blanket. Stiles’ head shoots up from his hands to look at Derek, who still hasn’t moved from the bathroom doorway, “All those things I said and did to you in the beginning. You frustrated me, more than anyone I had ever met. You still do,” Derek shoots a smirk at Stiles, who shakes his head with a quirk of his lips in response, “but I never meant it.”

 

“Good to know, thanks big guy,” Stiles says with a particularly light voice, before standing and beginning to turn down his bed, “I still think you’re a sourwolf, though.”

 

Derek throws Stiles’ pillow at his back.

 

***

 

Derek is woken by the sounds of screaming. Not an unusual experience for Derek, as his dreams are often plagued by the choking voices of those he has lost. He flings his eyes open to rouse himself from his sleep and takes a deep breath in. That is when he notices it, The disturbance in the air, thick with the smell of fear and pain- no, _agony._ Before he’s aware that he even made the decision, he is out of his bed and looming over Stiles. The boy is screaming loud, face twisted in agony and thrashing around as if he were fighting for his life.

 

Something within Derek breaks in this moment. He isn’t sure what triggers it; the smell of Stiles’ pain, the sight of him writhing in agony or the sound of is wracking screams, but his instincts are thrown in to overdrive. He isn’t acting consciously, but somehow he knows what to do.

 

He lets the wolf take over.

 

Derek climbs on to the bed, dodging flying limbs. He catches Stiles’ slim wrists in his hands and pins them to the bed, straddling his hips as he goes. He flattens his weight down until he is pressing Stiles into the bed, his whole body restraining the boy underneath him. He doesn’t know why he does this, all he is aware of is the desperate need to make sure that Stiles doesn’t hurt himself. The boy is still struggling, eyes screwed firmly shut in sleep, with shouts and screams still spilling from his trembling lips.

 

Following his instincts once more, Derek tries to wake him, shoving his nose in to Stiles’ neck and whimpering like an injured pup. Eventually the struggling begins to wane, and Derek feels Stiles wake with a shudder and a gasp.

 

*** 

 

When Stiles wakes, it is to the sight of electric blue eyes. He has a moment of panic, before he hears the whimpering. He takes stock of his situation. His throat is hoarse and Derek is pinning him to the bed, sounding like he’s very distressed. Immediately he knows that he had been dreaming. The chaos and the bloodshed are naught but a memory now. Stiles shifts under Derek and the whimpering in his ear intensifies. _Okay._

 

“Derek,” Stiles says quietly, voice rough and husky, wincing at the rawness of his throat and the wetness of his face as he wills his eyes to stop watering and focus. As soon as he hears Stiles’ voice, Derek lifts his weight off Stiles on to his knees. He begins sniffing at Stiles, hands running madly over his body, pressing and squeezing as if looking for an injury, all the while his eyes are ablaze.

 

 _Think, Stiles. Think._ He lies there whilst Derek checks him over, chest heaving whilst he catches his breath. _What do you know. He’s whimpering, he’s scared, he’s… acting on instinct? He must be, he’s half shifted. I need to tell him that I’m okay, but first I need to calm him enough to listen._

As soon as the thought is half-formed, he is acting. “I’m okay, Derek, I’m okay,” he whispers as he lifts his hand to the back of Derek’s neck and squeezes, _hard_. Derek goes still immediately, glowing eyes finding Stiles’ as the grip on his neck remains steady.

 

“I’m okay. I’m not hurt, I promise. I’m okay,” Stiles emphasises his words with another squeeze to Derek’s neck. The wolf immediately relaxes, body seemingly crumbling under its own weight as he collapses back on top of Stiles. Although Derek is still half shifted, it is clear that he understands there is no longer a threat. Now, as Stiles stares at his face, so close to his own, he can see the bags under Derek’s glowing eyes, causing embarrassment and guilt to rear their heads once more.

 

“I’m safe, Der. We’re okay,” Stiles whispers, raising his hand from Derek’s neck to card through his hair lightly, “Please go to sleep, Der. Please, just go back to sleep.”

 

Derek snuffles in to Stiles’ neck, letting the scent of the boy wash over him, and pull him in to slumber.


	8. To Smash The Silence (With The Brick Of Self Control)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles, what-” Derek breathes heavily, panic running cold through his veins, he looks down at his human nails, inspecting for blood and finding them clean, “What did I do?”
> 
> OR
> 
> Derek freaks out a lot, but Stiles will stick by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO IS A UNIVERSITY GRADUATE, it's me! I'm sorry the upload schedule for this is has been non-existent but I have no plans whatsoever for the foreseeable future so hopefully this story will get a lot more attention. Either way, here's a new chapter for you!
> 
> Chapter title from She by Green Day.

When Derek wakes, he is alone, confused, and definitely not in the same bed he had fallen asleep in. He knows something must have happened, can feel it in his own disorientation, but he doesn’t yet stir. He can hear the water running and Stiles’ heartbeat _thump-thump-thump_ ing in the bathroom, so he takes a second to indulge. His head is buried in Stiles’ pillow, the one that he sleeps on every night without fail, the one that he can’t sleep _without_ , and it’s so deeply ingrained with Stiles’ scent that it’s almost like he has his nose buried in Stiles’ neck, the scent is all around him, so strong, just like Stiles’ heartbeat beyond the wall and-

And Derek’s going to get hard if he doesn’t move now.

He rolls on to his back and sits up groggily, just at the moment the bathroom door opens and Stiles emerges in a plume of steam, fully clothed, with a towel in his hand that he is running over his damp hair.

“Mornin’, Der. I wanted to ask yesterday, but I was wondering where-“ Stiles looks at Derek properly, and interrupts himself, “Oh, dude, Derek, are you okay, man?”

Stiles is staring at Derek with confusion and worry on his face, and the longer he looks, the more Derek’s emotions begin to mirror those of the boy in front of him.

“I’m fine, why?” Derek says slowly, trying to hide the worry in his voice.

“Dude, it’s just, your eyes are still all wolfy.”

“Still? What do you mean, still?”

“Well last night you-” Stiles interrupts himself again. Derek can smell Siles’ worry and a hint of embarrassment starting to bleed through. “Wait, you don’t remember what happened last night?”

Now Derek is panicking. What happened? What does he remember? He remembers the shitty burgers they had from the diner, he remembers coming back to the room with Stiles and watching a documentary about sharks, he remembers staying awake until Stiles fell asleep just so he knew that the boy got even a little bit of rest and then- something woke him. A dream, maybe, or a sound. And then, everything goes fuzzy around the edges. He remembers the smell of pain, the sound of screaming, what did he _do? What did he-_

“Stiles, what-” Derek breathes heavily, panic running cold through his veins, he looks down at his human nails, inspecting for blood and finding them clean, “What did I do?”

“Nothing bad, big guy, I promise,” Stiles says in an over calm voice, betraying the worry in his scent. He drops his towel on the floor and walks over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Derek, trying to meet the older man’s eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was- I was-” That note of embarrassment is back in Stiles’ scent and he is now the one dipping his head to avoid Derek’s gaze. “I was having a nightmare. I must have woken you, because first thing I knew I had 200 pounds of half-shifted werewolf on top of me, whimpering in my ear to wake me up, and then you just… stayed.”

It’s coming back now. Derek remembers instinct taking over. He whimpered like an injured pup to try and wake Stiles from his agony, and once he had calmed, he stayed still, Stiles holding his neck until he was limp, and let the feel and scent and sounds of Stiles lull him back to sleep. Derek opens his mouth to speak but cannot find words.

“Um. I know it was probably just instinct, protecting pack and all that but,” Stiles clears his throat. He smells nervous, with an underlying hint of something Derek can’t identify, “Look, I’ve never ever been able to go back to sleep after a nightmare before and having you there really helped so. Thanks.”

As he says the last words, he lays his hand over Derek’s forearm and squeezes, looking Derek in the eyes. He can see his own beta blue eyes reflected back at him in Stiles’ gaze. He tries to say _you’re welcome_ , or _any time_ , or _always_ , like he wants to, but the words are caught in his throat. His arm is tingling from Stiles’ touch, and all he can do is raise his other hand to lay on top of Stiles’ gently.

It’s a moment. Their eyes are locked and their hands are touching and they’re so close together Derek can smell his sweet scent, can see the amber honey of his eyes, can hear the booming of his heart and feel his warmth, he just needs to-

“Derek, are you okay?” The worry is back in Stiles’ voice tenfold, and his eyes are no longer on Derek’s but are pointed down at their hands where-

Derek’s claws are out.

He hadn’t even felt it, doesn’t know when it happened.

He pulls his hand off Stiles as if he had been burned, and swings himself off of the opposite side of the bed, creating distance between them.

“I feel fine. I don’t know why this is happening.” He sounds angry, he knows he does, but that’s always how he sounds when he’s confused and kind of scared.

“It’s okay, Derek, we’ll figure it out. It’s probably just because of how tired you’ve been this last day or two,” Stiles says, but it’s evident in his tone that now even he doesn’t believe what he’s saying.

“It’s _not_ okay, Stiles! I could have-” _hurt you_ , Derek’s mind supplies. He can picture it now, accidentally cutting Stiles’ hand open with his claws because he’s lost control, or even last night, he could have- “I’m going for a run.”

Derek is out of the door, shirtless and barefoot, before Stiles can say another word.

** **  
Derek manages to make it out of the motel and in to the wooded area behind the diner without being seen. Then, he just _runs_. He doesn’t know what happened; he still can't get the smell of Stiles out of his nose, but at least his claws have retracted and he's back in control of his shift.

It isn't until he gets a couple of miles in to the woodland that he pauses for breath. Being around Stiles, around real _pack_ for the first time in so long is… overwhelming, to say the least. Derek doesn’t know why he lost control of his shift, all he knows is that he’s feeling very on-edge, as if everyone and everything could be a threat. Like snarling at the woman at the desk the previous night, what was he thinking?

Even now, only a few miles away from Stiles, and Derek can feel the tug in his chest, the undeniable need to be close to pack, to be there to protect if something were there to harm them. Just the thought is enough to worry Derek. Leaning against a tree and breathing in deeply, Derek closes his eyes and feels for that oh-so-tenuous pack bond he has with Stiles.

It somehow feels stronger than it did only days ago, which makes Derek smile to himself. His pack bond with Stiles has been a long time in the making, quietly buzzing its way in to life when Derek hadn’t been looking, then scaring him half to death when it fizzled in to silence under the Nogitsune. Although he didn’t feel it form, he definitely felt it return, like light breaking out through darkness. Derek’s single pack bond, a jumpy, nervous thing that just needs nurturing (not unlike Stiles himself, these days).

Now, Derek taps in to the bond. He feels Stiles’ exhaustion, bone-deep and gnawing, feels his hunger, his anxiety, his sadness and fear, but overarching all of it he feels that pull flaring at him, tugging like a string beneath his ribs, screaming at him to _find pack, protect, comfort, now._

Derek is running back towards the motel before his next breath.

** **

Derek bursts through the door of the motel room, bare chest heaving. He’d received a strange look from the day porter at the desk when he’d sprinted through the reception area, but he didn’t care. He had to get back to the room.

Stiles all but jumps out of his skin at Derek’s entrance, bounding up from his seat on the bed when the door opens.

“Stiles! Stiles, are you okay?” Derek all but shouts at the boy. He knows he must look wild, sweaty and harried, but he’d felt it, he’d _felt_ Stiles’ need for him, for pack, for someone to be there.

“Derek! Christ, I’m fine, what’s going on?” Stiles asks, pressing his hand to his chest to feel his racing heart.

“But I felt- I’m _sure_ it felt like-“ Derek pauses, filtering through Stiles’ scent for any signs of distress, and scanning him for any possible harm that may have come to him. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, man, I’m fine,” Stiles gives a strained smile and rubs the back of his neck, “Not always the biggest fan of being alone, you know, but I’m okay. Promise.”

He’s not lying. Derek can tell from the steady, albeit elevated, thumping of Stiles’ heart. He can’t sense any new emotions coming from Stiles, only the ever-present anxiety and exhaustion that have there for months. Maybe Derek is simply being over-sensitive to Stiles, because the boy is the only pack he has? Or, perhaps it is because they have left their territory? Or is it their close proximity to one another? Derek doesn’t know.

“Sorry. I thought I felt something wrong,” Derek says, avoiding Stiles’ eyes, and shaking his head at himself, body already in motion, “I’m going to take a shower, then we can get breakfast.”

** **

“So, where are we going?”

The words mean very little, really. Nothing much more than an idle question that Derek knows Stiles doesn't really care about the answer to, as long as it isn't Beacon Hills. And yet, they feel like a balm to Derek's frantic mind.

In the shower, Derek had stewed, asking every question he could think of only to recieve no answers. Are his senses failing him? Is he losing control? How can he apologise to Stiles for running off? Or for last night? How can he protect Stiles if he isn't in control? Is he going feral? Although he knows that the latter is very unlikely, he can't help but think the worst. It's what Derek does best.

Now, Derek stands by the bed, digging through his bag for a clean shirt whilst Stiles puts his shoes on. They have been in silence since Derek went in to the bathroom, and he is wracking his brain for the best way to say _I'm sorry I ran away but I didn't have control and I don't know why_ , when Stiles breaks the silence for him. The boy coming to his rescue, as per usual.

“Wherever you want,” Derek replies, pulling his henley over his head. He keeps his tone light, trying to sound like he's open to Stiles' suggestions, which he is, he just has... an idea.

“I know you, Der. You know where we’re going, you just want me to have the choice to go somewhere else. I’ve got no other ideas. So, I’ll ask again. Where are we going?” Stiles says. His voice sounds fond when he speaks, despite his clipped sentences and it surprises Derek. He was sure that Stiles would be mad at him for running off, yet again.

“Just, trust me, okay? I think this could be good. For both of us.” Derek watches as Stiles gets up from his perch on the other bed, unfolding his limbs gracefully and coming to stand directly in front of Derek, holding the older man's eyes with his own.

“Okay. Okay, I trust you.”

And with that, Stiles grabs his things and heads out of the motel room door, waiting in the hallway for Derek to follow.

Derek, who, for a moment, was frozen.

Those words.

I trust you.

Those words meant more to Derek than Stiles would ever know.

With a small smile on his lips, Derek grabs his bag and joins Stiles outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're having a great time!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos, they make me happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed, and any helpful comments would be appreciated!


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